Much Ado About Nothing
by PrincessEilonwy
Summary: Haven't you always wanted to read a Gendibal/Delarmi romance?
1. Plot

Disclaimer: The Isaac Asimov Estate owns the First Foundation, the Second Foundation, Gaia, and the Table.  I own just over half of the Speakers at the Table.

A/N: Well, here it finally is—my first real Foundation story.  Parodying the books is all well and good, but stories are better.  If the summary frightened you slightly, good.  You probably should be frightened.  This story will definitely require a sense of humor, but I expect most of you will have no trouble with that.  The title should give you a clue to the plot of the story if you're familiar with Shakespeare's play of the same name.  If you're not, just wait and see.  You should figure it out pretty quickly as the story develops.  No, this is not even an attempt at Asimov's writing style, and yes, it is rather irreverent, but I couldn't pass up the idea!

Much Ado About Nothing

First Speaker Quindor Shandess called the Table meeting to order with the usual difficulty and looked around at the nine faces staring back at him—there should have been ten, even with Stor Gendibal still out on his mission.  This thought gave him a little thrill of pleasure, as he knew exactly who was missing and why.

"Speakers," he announced in his best pompous voice, "I have good news and bad news."  The others glanced at each other only fleetingly, but the mental flutter that accompanied his statement showed only too well that their curiosity had been aroused.

"Let's hear the bad news first, then," commented Trega Miran, obviously feeling that this unusual beginning warranted an unusually forward response.  Some of the other Speakers looked somewhat shocked by her frankness, but most of them nodded in agreement.

Smiling beatifically at them all, Shandess continued, "Very well.  The bad news is that our esteemed colleague Speaker Gendibal is expected back at Trantor in less than a week."  Loud groans, both verbal and mental, abounded at this piece of news, but he pressed on.  "The good news is that our esteemed colleague Speaker Delarmi has contracted a bad cold and will stay in bed for the rest of the week."  

At this point, the Speakers lost all self-control and began jumping up and down, whooping and cheering happily.  Shandess would have liked very much to join them in celebrating, but refrained for the sake of getting the meeting more or less on track.  It was a dirty job, but obviously someone had to do it.

"Excuse me," he said calmly, holding up a hand in a gesture intended to quiet the others.  It didn't work.  "Excuse me!" he repeated, feeling his patience beginning to thin.  The noise showed no signs of abating.  Sighing in resignation, the First Speaker pulled out the gavel he had hoped he would never have to use during a meeting and banged it smartly on the table.

This had the desired effect, as everyone stopped babbling quite suddenly and stared at him with mixed surprise and reproach.  "I realize this calls for a celebration," he said apologetically, "but _not yet.  _First we must plan."  The others exchanged skeptical looks that they probably thought they were hiding very well.  This was obviously one of those days where everyone thought he was a senile old bat, but he wasn't about to let that spoil his master plan.

"I believe," Shandess began mildly, "that we all agree that both Speakers Delarmi and Gendibal have put us through a horrendous amount of misery."  [As well as providing entertainment during otherwise dull meetings,] he added to himself, careful to shield the thought from the other Speakers.  "Am I right?"

He was answered unanimously by nods and other indications of agreement.  "I, for one, believe that we ought to...er..._reward_ our colleagues for their hard work and dedication, don't you?"  Catching the tone of his voice, everyone was quick to agree that Gendibal and Delarmi indeed deserved "rewards" for what they had done for the Table.  The First Speaker smiled wolfishly.

"In that case, I have an idea.  Just an idea, you understand, but I think we could work out something very rewarding indeed."  Slowly and savoring every word, Shandess began to tell them his idea.  As he had hoped, it was met with, if possible, even more joy than the announcement about Delarmi's cold.

"This has to be the best thing the Table has ever done!" enthused Irnet Possad, grinning like a fool.  The First Speaker tried not to show how pleased he was at the success of his proposition, but he was sure they all knew anyway—and shared the feeling.  After all, who could resist an opportunity to get back at everyone's favorite Speakers, Gendibal and Delarmi?

"All right then," he said, standing up happily.  "It's time to put it to a vote."  Now he had to go through the time-honored formalities, though they were hardly necessary in this situation.  "Is there any Speaker who will support the proposition I have set forth?"

Instantly, the room was filled with both mentalic and physical noise as all nine struggled to make themselves heard over each other.  At last Shandess raised a hand again to stem the flow of words and proclaimed, "Then, speaking for and with the consent of the Table, I hereby put into action Operation Secret Admirer!"

The applause was deafening.  All the Speakers rose to their feet as one, giving Shandess the first standing ovation of his career—clapping was not usually part of Table meetings.  Since everyone seemed so pleased, the First Speaker decided to dismiss them without further ado.  It was, quite possibly, the most productive meeting in the history of the Second Foundation.

Later that night in his apartment, Shandess sat dreaming of the future.  He rubbed his hands gleefully as he thought of the misfortune that would befall Delarmi and Gendibal in about a week's time.  If they weren't so insufferable, he might feel sorry for them...

A/N: I hope you enjoyed that.  If you didn't, I'm sorry, but please at least pay me the courtesy of not flaming.  This is my first true story for the category and, as far as I know, the first actual humor story (not counting musicals, etc.).  There's no need to tell me the Speakers are out of character, I know that very well indeed, but that won't stop me.  Never fear...Hopefully I'll be able to update reasonably soon, but I'm working on many other stories, as well as summer reading, just plain having fun, etc.  I look forward to posting two other stories sometime: a crossover with the Norby books (if you haven't read them you should, they're funny) and a crossover with The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.  I won't abandon this one, though.  Oh no...never.  Coming Soon: Chapter Two.


	2. Cold

Disclaimer: Gendibal and Delarmi belong to the Isaac Asimov Estate.  Operation Secret Admirer belongs to me.

A/N: Even though I will very possibly make these characters' lives miserable for the rest of the story, they're some of my favorite Foundation folks.  I read some sort of essay in which the writer referred to Asimov's portrayal of the Second Foundation in _Foundation's Edge as distancing himself from it to make room for Gaia.  Apologies to the essayist if you're reading this, but in my opinion that's dead wrong.  In fact, the Speakers are the main reason I like the book—I can tell because I don't have nearly as much liking for __Foundation and Earth.  They are, to me, some of Asimov's most believable and entertaining characters—I don't know if he meant their meetings to be humorous, but they always make me laugh.  The insults they throw at each other...it's like listening to very intelligent mentalic kindergarteners.  And I figured this section needs some "just because" stories, so what better plot than two deadly enemies falling in love?  Right?  Okay, don't everyone review at once.  Anyway, this chapter will make fun of some aspects of Asimov's writing, such as the fact that characters tend to get distracted from the important things and end up talking about the ship's waste disposal system for five minutes before they get back on track.  Did that bother anyone else?_

Cold

Delora Delarmi was absolutely miserable.

She had just spent three days in bed with the worst cold she'd ever had in her life—odd that with so many of humanity's accomplishments over the millennia, they had not yet managed to eradicate the common cold.  As Delora reflected on this, her gaze traveled around her rather small but comfortably furnished bedroom.  The bookfilms, the small speaker grille set into her alarm clock, her personal copy of the Prime Radiant sitting on the bedside table within easy reach, all spoke of advanced technology.  So, then, why the failure to squash such miniscule adversaries as viruses?

Almost all other human diseases had been unknown for thousands of years; Delora knew of them only from ancient histories and papers.  Cancer, chicken pox, measles—all had disappeared into the murky mists of legend.  And yet the common cold remained...

Idly, Delora wondered how such things could happen.  Of course, much knowledge of the days before the Galactic Empire had been lost in the course of time—could her many-times great-grandparents perhaps have had the secret of curing colds?  Or their ancestors before them?  It was certainly a great loss for the human race to have forgotten so much about the ancient history and knowledge of the galaxy, Delora thought.

A fit of coughing jerked her out of her thoughts, and she grabbed for the sleek chrome-plated box of tissues on the bedside table.  When she was able to think properly again and no longer felt as if she were coughing her brains out, Delora let out her breath in a long sigh.  Now that she had mostly recovered, she was extremely annoyed with the First Speaker.  Not only had he not inquired about her condition, but she was sure he had called a Table meeting without notifying her as well!  No doubt he had tried to put into action another idiotic plan that would result in the Second Foundation collapsing utterly and leaving the galaxy to try to sort things out for itself for a change.

Shaking her head at the thought of that pair of idiots, Shandess and Gendibal, conspiring to control the Table, Delora blew her nose and replaced the tissues.  It was then that she remembered something Ringel had told her the previous day.

Ringel was one of her many personal lackeys, a little man with thinning hair and a mind like a steel sieve.  He also happened to be the clerk who was responsible for working out the details of Table meetings—alerting the Speakers, making sure no curious tourists could find their way accidentally to the Chamber, and such.  Consequently, he often managed to pick up interesting little tidbits of information and pass them on to her.

"Speaker Delarmi," he had said respectfully on entering her room, where she was in bed, still suffering from a prodigious combination of cough, general all-over congestion, and runny nose.  "I have information I think you will be interested to hear."

"Yes?" she had snapped impatiently.  "Tell be gwickly add ged id ober widd."  

Ringel had bowed slightly and continued.  "I happened to hear, through various sources, that..."  He swallowed a little.  "Speaker, this will not be welcome news."

"Jusd tell be."

"Very well," he said carefully.  "My sources tell me that in less than a week...Gendibal will be back."

Delora had known that this ought to matter to her, but at the moment she had been simply too miserable to care.  Now, however...

"Gendibal," she groaned to herself.  Why?  Why did the galaxy persist in tormenting her with blithering idiocy personified?  And not only was he dumb, he was lucky as well.  How else would he have gotten the First Speaker to name him as his successor?

Leaning back against the pillows, Delora stared up at the ceiling.  Once Gendibal got back from his wild goose chase, he would want to take the office of First Speaker as quickly as possible, and then it would all go up in flames.  His first act would probably be to change the name of the Second Foundation to "Gendibal's Empire", she thought morosely.  And from that it was only a short step to rewriting the history books so that it referred to Stor Gendibal as the greatest First Speaker of all time.  In fact, Delora had a nasty feeling that there was no telling where the inanity would stop if Gendibal came to power.

"Right," Delora said grimly, still looking at the fascinatingly blank ceiling.  She took a deep breath.  "It is my duty, as a concerned Speaker of the Second Foundation, to pledge my undying hatred of Stor Gendibal and resistance to anything he supports."  Having read her history, she knew that this sort of vow had been made only once before, and in secret at the time—the largely obscure Speaker Pon Andek had been driven to it by Preem Palver's announcement that he was bringing a teenage girl to visit.  Really, she couldn't blame him...

With an effort, she dragged herself out of bed and surveyed her room determinedly.  "Delora," she told herself, "you have a job ahead of you."  She would have to do her best to save the Second Foundation, despite her disgust at the other people who were running it.  It was simply the only thing to do under the circumstances.

Feeling slightly better now that she had made such a generally good and unselfish resolution, Delora strode to the door of her room.  For now, she had work to do.  But she would be ready for Gendibal when he returned.  Oh yes, she would be ready.

A/N: I think Operation Secret Admirer is really going to take her by surprise, don't you?  I just can't wait until I get into it and the plot comes together—I have the basic idea, but no details worked out yet.  I'm going to post a whole lot of Foundation stories eventually, including ones about obscure characters like Licia, Commdora of Korell.  If you don't remember Licia, reread the last part of _Foundation._  I believe she shows up twice.  She just strikes me as a really great character every time I read the parts with her—I love the way she talks to her husband.  Now there's a lady who knows how to take charge...Anyway, hopefully I'll be able to update soon, so please please please review!


	3. Return

Disclaimer: Suranoviremblastiran, Stor Gendibal, and the _Bright Star_ belong to Asimov.

A/N: And now we join our favorite First Speaker-elect, Stor Gendibal!  What horrors will befall him as he prepares to return to Trantor?  More worryingly, what horrors will befall him when he returns to Trantor?  And what exactly is the Table's fiendish plan?...No, actually that one is pretty obvious.  The question is, how will he and Delarmi react?  Ha ha ha ha...

Thoglir: Yes, definitely a parody.  I personally enjoy inserting random conversations or trains of thought that have nothing to do with the matter at hand...

bobo: Thanks!  I did kind of want to give the impression of "goofy and absolutely insane, yet fed up with some of Asimov's characters".  Really, now...some of these people are too smart to be true.

Comrade Pokes: Thank you!  Licia is great—she may be a stuck-up brat, but no more so than her husband.  I'm eventually going to write a story about her when I get the time.

Return

Stor Gendibal was having a lousy day.  First he had woken up only three hours after going to bed and had found it impossible to get back to sleep.  Then he had finally fallen asleep again—and woken up several hours later to hear Novi singing.  He loved everything about Novi except her singing voice, which he hated with a passion.

And now he couldn't find his copy of the Prime Radiant.  This was serious.

"Novi?" Stor called loudly.  There was no reply.  "Novi!" he repeated, beginning to feel impatient.  There was no time to be lost—he had to find his precious Prime Radiant or...or...he wasn't quite sure what would happen, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant.  It made him nervous to be separated from it for any length of time, especially at a time like this.

He was distracted from his thoughts as Novi finally responded.  "What is it, Master?" she asked, entering his room and looking at him with some concern.

Stor took a deep breath and rolled his eyes mentally.  "How many times have I told you not to call me 'Master'?" he demanded.  "From now on, you will call me 'Speaker Gendibal' or 'Stor'.  All right?"

Novi nodded reluctantly.  "Yes, Master."  Stor restrained his sudden urge to kill.  "But what is it you wanted, Master?"

Oh yes, the Prime Radiant.  Stor had almost forgotten in his annoyance at Novi.  "Novi, I am looking for my Prime Radiant.  Do you know what that is?" he asked gently, speaking slowly so she wouldn't be confused by the term "Prime Radiant".

"Prime Radiant..." Novi mused.  "No, Master, I never be hearing—I have never heard of it.  Is it one of your scholarly wonders?"

"Er, yes, I suppose so," Stor said.  He waved a hand dismissively.  "But I can explain it to you another time.  What matters most at the moment is that I find it quickly before I go insane."  Novi gave him another strange look, apparently surprised to hear him talk this way.  He couldn't blame her.

She was silent for a moment.  Then she asked, "What does this wonder look like?"  Stor sighed inwardly.  He kept forgetting that he had to explain even the simplest things to her, but she couldn't be blamed.  She was, after all, only an ignorant Hamishwoman.

"It's a cube about this big," he said, demonstrating the size with his hands.  Looking at her anxiously, he demanded, "Have you seen it?"  He was worried by something he thought he had seen earlier—just a flicker—

There!  There it was again, stronger than before.  Stor was suddenly filled with dread.  "Novi?" he said slowly.

She gulped a little.  "Yes, Master?"

"What have you done with my Prime Radiant?"

The question hung unanswered in the air for a moment or two, during which Stor did his best to pry into Novi's mind without prying.  There was a definite feeling of guilt there...

At last, Novi said in a small voice, "You mustn't be angry with me, Master.  I didn't know what it was, and you shouldn't leave your things lying around the ship."  Even in his cold fury, Stor was slightly relieved to hear Novi be so assertive.  He would find time to commend her for it later, when he was speaking to her again.

"But what did you _do_ with it, Novi?" Stor persisted, taking her by the shoulders.  "Did you...did you accidentally put it in the wash?"  Galaxy, he hoped not.  The thought of it was enough to make him nauseous.

"Worse, Master," she admitted miserably.  "You remember how the garbage is—is—"  She made a hand motion, having forgotten the word.

"Jettisoned," Stor supplied automatically.  His brain seemed to be slowly shorting out.

"Yes, jettisoned—into space.  Well...as I said, Master, you did not warn me.  So I took it for a box of some kind, and when I shook it and it made no sound, I thought it was empty.  So..."  She cringed apologetically, shrugging a little.

Stor was having trouble thinking.  His mind had stuck somewhere at the point where Novi had talked about shaking it.  Shaking the Prime Radiant...who knew what damage that alone could do.  And now it was lost in the infinite cold and dark of space...

Making a face that was more a grimace than a reassuring smile, Stor told Novi, "I'm going to go to my room now and think for a while.  You just...er, do what you normally do.  And please, please, _please_ consult me before you throw out anything else."  Novi nodded tremblingly, apparently so glad to have escaped his wrath for the moment that she could say nothing.  Good.  Frankly, Stor didn't want to hear anything out of her for the next year or so.

When he had slammed and locked his bedroom door behind him, Stor threw himself onto the bed and screamed into the pillow until he was hoarse.  This didn't really make him feel any better, but at least it took the edge off his desperate anger.  Once he could think a little more clearly, he sat up and began to plan.

Right.  Obviously he couldn't just tell the First Speaker that he had lost his Prime Radiant—that would be a sign of folly and incompetence that Delarmi would milk for all it was worth.  No, he would have to come up with some sort of excuse.  Hmm...how could he possibly have lost it?

Stor racked his brains for reasons to return to Trantor without his Prime Radiant.  It could have been stolen by space pirates!...No, they would have taken the ship as well.  He could have sold it to get cash!...That was no good, the Second Foundation had given him plenty of money when he set out.  This could take a little thought.

Then, quite suddenly, an idea struck.  "I gave it to the needy children of Sayshell," he said aloud, trying it out.  It didn't sound too ridiculous.  "I felt so sorry for them...they had no decent schools, no hope of education...and so I thought, what better education than the knowledge of history and math provided by the Prime Radiant?  They needed it more than I."  Yes, he thought, quite good.  With a little work, it could be a most convincing story.

The problem would be convincing himself to believe it enough to fool other mentalics.

An hour later, he felt he was ready to try it before an audience.  "Novi!" he called, practically bounding out of his room.

She came hesitantly, not sure what to expect.  Stor grinned at her.  "Novi, ask me how I lost my Prime Radiant."

"But Master—" she protested.  Stor shook his head firmly, still smiling, and she stopped.  "How did you lose your Prime Radiant, Master?" she asked expressionlessly.

Good enough.  "Well, that's an interesting question," Stor began.  "Have you ever been to Sayshell?"  Novi gave him a look, so he went on without waiting for a response.  "Well, there are so many underprivileged children there it just broke my heart.  You would think, in modern Galactic society, that every child would have an opportunity for education, but these young ones were just starved for learning, I could see it.  So—"  He paused to smile and dash an imaginary tear from his eye.  No, maybe that was hamming it up a bit too much.  "On our way back home, I gave my Prime Radiant as a gift to the young people of Sayshell.  I hope they will find in it education and hope for the future."

He looked at Novi, raising his eyebrows.  "Well, what did you think?"

"Master," she said in a slightly patronizing tone, as if talking to a five-year-old, "we never went to Sayshell."

Aha.  Problem number two.

"Thank you, Novi.  You have just reminded me of something," he told her.  "When we get back to Trantor, I will tell the First Speaker and the Table what I have just told you, and I do not want you to say anything to the contrary."

"You want me to lie to other scholars?" she asked, her eyes wide.

Stor shook his head, smiling.  "No, just leave out the truth.  In fact, it's probably better if you simply don't say anything at all if you can help it.  Just leave it to me."

Novi looked at him dubiously.  "Will you be able to lie to the other scholars?" she asked fearfully.

"Trust me," Stor said confidently.

Four days later, Stor Gendibal was just as confident about his story, but considerably more annoyed.  He had always been fairly good at piloting spaceships—it was landing them that was the problem for him.  He simply hadn't worked up the nerve yet.

"Why are we going in circles around Trantor, Master?" Novi asked him.

Stor looked at her somewhat peevishly, not really wanting to address this topic at the moment.  "It's called orbiting.  What makes you think we are?" he replied.

"We must be," she said, shrugging.  "You said we would arrive at Trantor in two days.  That was four days ago."  Stor winced a little, wondering why she had to bring this up.  Theoretically, of course, the _Bright Star_ should be able to land itself if he told it to, but he didn't quite trust a computer that complex.

This time, he vowed, he would do it.  There was no reason not to.  The computer would take care of everything...

"I have my own reasons for these things," he told Novi enigmatically.  "And, for my own reasons which have nothing whatever to do with cowardice, I have decided that now is the time to land."  Beckoning her to follow, he went to the computer desk and sat down, placing his hands on it as usual.

_Land!_

Though the change was imperceptible to those inside the ship, Stor felt it through his connection with the computer.  In that one command, he had also fed it the coordinates of the deserted field that served as an airstrip for the ships of the Second Foundation.  Now he just had to sit back and wait...

Feeling his heartbeat ease itself back to normal, Stor turned to Novi with a smile.  "You see, Novi," he said.  "It's not difficult.  Why, you could probably do it!"

She backed away immediately.  "Oh, no, Master, I could never do such a thing.  That is for wise scholars like you."

Stor had never noticed before how her sincere flattery grated on him.  He must speak to her about that, he decided.  But not now—right now he had to go lie down.  The sheer effort involved in showing off for Novi was quite exhausting.

As soon as the _Bright Star_ had landed, Stor made preparations to leave.  His things had been packed for some time, of course, but he wanted to make the right impression when he set foot on Trantorian soil again.  If he came out immediately, people would think he couldn't handle long periods in space.  If he waited too long, people would think he was slow.  The key was to wait just long enough to suggest that he had something important to wrap up before he left the ship.

"Let us go now, Master," Novi suggested patiently.  "We can leave, can't we?"

"Yes, yes, but not yet," Stor said.  "Wait a few more minutes."  They did, sitting in a rather uncomfortable silence.  Novi was obviously bored but didn't want to show it in front of him.

At last Stor got to his feet and said, "All right, Novi, we may leave _now."_  Picking up his bags, he opened the airlock and led the way out, his head held high like a conqueror as he strode out to meet the welcoming committee, such as it was.

As he had thought, the welcoming committee consisted of the Table.  Novi was careful to stay a few paces behind Stor, still leery of other scholars.  Stor smiled at everybody and tried to ignore the slight twinges of amusement among the other Speakers.  Now what was that about?

Stepping onto the grass, Stor clasped hands warmly—or as warmly as possible—with the First Speaker.  "It's good to be back, First Speaker," he said honestly.

"And it's good to have you back," the First Speaker replied with the slightest suggestion of a wolfish smile playing about his lips.  "Welcome to Trantor, Speaker Gendibal."

A/N: How long will it take the brilliant Stor Gendibal to figure out that he is in major trouble?  Any bets?  I'm guessing a month, two at the most.  And meanwhile, of course, he will be constantly confused by Operation Secret Admirer and the fact that all the other Speakers have to work to keep from laughing every time they see him...Okay, this is not good.  Either my Internet connection isn't working tonight or I didn't manage to upload the whole second chapter.  Did you guys manage to get all of it?  Because here's the major problem: I seem to have deleted the file from my computer—it's not on any of my disks either.  However, I think it must just be my computer—I always preview things before I post them and I would have noticed if the last half of the chapter was missing, don't you think?  Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up soon!  (And please review my other Foundation stories, because they really need more reviews.)


	4. Deceit

Disclaimer: If Isaac Asimov knew about this, I am sure he would be grateful that I own Operation Secret Admirer and not he. However, he does own the characters.

A/N: So…now we can actually begin the main part of the story. Dang, it's been so long since I updated! Stupid schoolwork…Ah well. Such is life. This chapter may be a tad pointless, but I feel okay with doing that since I now have the leisure to update sometime before the next century. I tend to get carried away with random details, hence the entire last chapter. I did have fun, though. Thanks to all my reviewers:

Lispeth: I totally agree, Asimov's characters often lack that dimension in the Foundation books. Some of his other books have no shortage of romance, but the Second Foundation…sad lack of actual emotional development there.

Green Eve: Thanks! I was definitely hoping for a certain liveliness, since I tend to plod along with the actual storyline in things like this. If you're still reading, hope you enjoy this!

DemonOfShadow: Thank you! I don't know if you'll actually come back to review this chapter, since it's been so long, but I'm glad you enjoyed it so far.

MintyPill: Man, I love your reviews! Thank you so much for the encouragement, other people's laughter really makes my day. You should definitely consider being a professional online reviewer. Though that might not pay much…

Deceit

"First Speaker," Trega Miran said respectfully, excitement evident in her every movement as she entered Shandess's office. The First Speaker looked up, his minor annoyance at the interruption quickly swept away by eagerness to hear her news.

He smiled at her and gestured her to a seat across the desk from him. "What news of our…er…project?" he inquired sotto voce, darting a quick glance around the office to make sure it wasn't bugged. He had always wanted to do something like that, but there just wasn't much opportunity for that sort of melodrama on Trantor. A pity, really.

"I've spoken to Speaker Delarmi, of course," Miran began. "She seems to have recovered nicely from her cold." She paused to share a commiserating grimace with the First Speaker, then went on with her report. "I couldn't resist telling her how glad we all are that Speaker Gendibal is with us once more."

A smile played around the corners of the First Speaker's lips, an expression of strong amusement. Yes, Delarmi-baiting was always a relaxing activity after a hard day of work. He certainly couldn't blame Miran for having a little fun.

"And did she have anything to say about him?" he asked curiously.

Miran smiled a little. "She pretended she hadn't heard me mention him." Typical.

"However," Miran continued, "I do have some more serious news." The First Speaker's ears pricked up. Under the circumstances, any serious news was most likely bad news.

The silence hung in the office for a few seconds. "Well?" the First Speaker prompted. "Serious news?"

"Yes." Miran paused, then blurted, "I have reason to suspect that Speaker Gendibal is romantically involved with the Hamishwoman."

The First Speaker took several deep, cleansing breaths. "I see," he said at last. "And what suggests this to you?"

Miran sighed and shook her head. "It's just written all over him. I've seen them together and—" She broke off, trying to hide the mentalic equivalent of a blush. There was indeed a downside to reading others' emotional states.

"I understand," Shandess said hastily. "No need to go into details. But if you are sure of this…" He wondered how he could possibly have missed such a dangerous development. Maybe Delarmi was right and his age was catching up with him.

"We're going to have to implement drastic measures," Miran mused aloud. "Shall we call an emergency meeting?"

Shandess paused. Then, "Yes. Yes, I think we'd better," he replied. Whatever was to be done about the situation, it would require the cooperation of the other Speakers, and they had to come to a decision soon. There was no time to lose.

Sura Novi had to go.

Two hours later, ten Speakers were gathered in Shandess's office—using the meeting room would be too conspicuous—doing their best to find comfortable spots in a room made to hold four people at the most. It was, of course, impossible.

"This meeting is hereby called to order," Shandess announced. "Let's skip the formalities. I suppose by now you all know why we are here?"

There was a murmur of general agreement. Good. They could cut to the chase, then.

"As you all know, unexpected problems have appeared on the Gendibal front," he continued. "This business with the Hamishwoman must be investigated and put a stop to at all costs. Does anyone have any ideas?"

Dead silence.

"Come _on."_ Shandess couldn't believe this. "Surely _someone_ must have an idea!" Nobody did.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few more seconds, punctuated by coughs and throat-clearing noises. Shandess found this extremely irritating and didn't try to hide it. "What kind of Speakers are you, anyway?" he demanded.

"What about you?" Lestim Gianni demanded hotly. "I don't see you coming up with any brilliant ideas, O great leader."

This was degenerating fast. If Shandess didn't move quickly, he might have a mutiny on his hands. And mutinies, while always vicious, were much, much worse in the Second Foundation.

"Speakers, Speakers," he said calmly, doing his best to smile. "We must all work together if we expect to succeed in our plan. Now, are there any ideas about our problem?"

Leonis Cheng raised a hand rather timidly. "We could have the Hamishwoman assassinated," he suggested.

"Hmm," the First Speaker mused. "A good idea, but impractical. Too easy to trace back to us." The other Speakers nodded in agreement. Cheng looked extremely disappointed.

"Or we could kidnap her," Trega Miran volunteered. "Get her offworld somehow, maybe."

The First Speaker nodded slowly. "That has promise," he admitted. "But it would take careful planning and utter secrecy." He looked around at the others, his piercing gaze fixed on each in turn. "Can I trust all of you to be loyal?"

They all assured him of their utmost loyalty to him and their determination to keep the scheme a secret. Lies, he was sure of it. At least in some cases.

"Good," he said aloud, filling his mind with innocent trust. "Then, we must turn our attention to our plan. It will have to be put in motion soon, before the Table falls back into its ordinary habits. If Gendibal and Delarmi are allowed to start hating each other on a regular basis again, the plan will fail." Thinking quickly, he continued, "Five of us will work on the Hamish situation, while the other five will implement the plan." He indicated two groups with a few nods of his head, placing himself in the first group. Better that he should deal with the dangerous part himself.

Melda Werit, one of those chosen for the second group, spoke up. "What should we do, First Speaker? I mean…I don't think any of us have ever done anything quite like this before. And are you sure it's quite ethical…?"

"Yes," Shandess said firmly. "Absolutely, undoubtedly ethical. All's fair in love and war, eh?" That got a few chuckles. "If I were you, I would begin with anonymous notes. That should be sufficiently confusing. Catch them off guard and they are ours." He did not quite grin—Speakers did not grin—but he managed to radiate immense satisfaction.

Speaker Trega Miran left the meeting deep in thought. She had been assigned to the group in charge of setting their scheme in motion, and her mind was already hard at work thinking of ways to start on the assignment at once. Cards? Flowers? Jewelry?

Aha! A possibility sprang suddenly to mind. An excellent possibility.

Chocolate.

Perfect, she thought with satisfaction. Even weirdoes like Gendibal and Delarmi couldn't possibly hate chocolate; everyone liked chocolate. And, as a regular chocolate consumer herself, she could obtain it without anyone suspecting she was up to something. Overeating had its uses.

"Hello," she said pleasantly to the cashier twenty minutes later, placing the huge box of truffles on the counter.

The woman smiled at her. "Will this be all, Speaker?" she asked. All the employees here knew her well, but customs still dictated their unfailing politeness.

"Yes, I think so," Miran said with a small, secret smile. The smile, rather unusual in a society used to strict emotional control, lingered around the corners of her mouth as she made her cheerful way to her apartment, drawing some odd looks but nothing more. Nobody would dare imply there was anything odd about a Speaker's behavior.

Miran sent messages to the other four Speakers in her group, informing them of her immediate action. She suggested that they hold a planning meeting that evening in her apartment and hinted delicately that there would be drinks and dessert. No harm in offering a little reward for hard work…

At seven o'clock, everyone was gathered in her sitting room, perched on various chairs and a small sofa. Miran had tidied up a little for the occasion, which consisted of shoving huge piles of printouts and bookfilms into a corner and moving her desk chair in front of the mess to screen it from view.

"All right, everyone," she said, clapping her hands twice to make sure she had their attention. "I think we should get started."

Speaker Werit made herself comfortable in her chosen armchair before speaking. "What is the purpose of this meeting, Speaker? I'm sure _you_ have a plan," she said, with just the slightest hint of a snide smile.

Miran sighed inwardly. As one of the youngest Speakers—only in her fifties—she was well aware that someone as chronologically advanced as Melda Werit might take offense if she automatically assumed a role of leadership. "I'd like to hear everyone's ideas before we formulate a plan of action," she replied politely. There were nods of agreement from the others.

"Well," said Terrian Dels a little diffidently, "I think we can follow the First Speaker's excellent suggestion and say that anonymous notes are a must. I mean, I remember in my younger days—passionate romances and secret admirers and all that—" He trailed off with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Don't we all," Miran said encouragingly. "You're absolutely right, Speaker Dels." She carefully scribbled down "Anonymous notes" on the clipboard she held in her lap. "Anyone else?"

"Romantic nighttime walks in the gardens," suggested Speaker Ker Eshol.

Miran raised her eyebrows a little. "Hmmm," she said. "Well, I can see I'll have to put in a column for long-range goals…" All the other Speakers expressed similar amusement at the thought of Delarmi and Gendibal walking through the rose garden hand in hand, exchanging sappy sentiments. It was definitely something to work for.

"I've already bought some chocolate, as I told you in the memo," Miran said proudly. "That's bound to help, in my opinion. And flowers for Delarmi wouldn't hurt either…" She wrote down her own additions, "Chocolate" and "Flowers", and looked up at the others expectantly. No more ideas seemed forthcoming.

"Right," she said briskly. "Chocolate we have. Speaker Werit, could you possibly get us flowers? I'm sure whatever you choose will be excellent," she added, hoping to placate the older woman. The last thing she needed was Werit on the warpath.

Speaker Werit's smile resembled something that had recently been taken out of the freezer and was not quite finished thawing out yet. At least it was an improvement—the woman was trying, that much was obvious. Miran returned the smile graciously.

Half an hour of intense discussion followed, punctuated by occasional glares from Werit, during which the Speakers proposed and rejected many plans. One of the most pressing matters was the method of delivery for the notes and other gifts. The ideas ranged from the halfway plausible to the simply inane—the suggestion of ringing Gendibal's and Delarmi's door buzzers and then running away was considered seriously for some time, until one of them pointed out that with powerful mentalics, one simply couldn't get away with something like that. Eventually the group decided to leave the notes in the care of the floor proctors and trust to their discretion (and healthy fear of Speakers) to keep them quiet.

By seven-thirty, the committee had come up with a master plan of breathtaking scope, consisting of several phases to be implemented within the next two months. Miran was very pleased with their progress. It was a huge achievement to get any assembly of Speakers to cooperate and agree on anything, let alone something so far outside the range of their normal duties.

"I think that concludes the business for this meeting." When nobody indicated otherwise, Miran nodded briskly and stood up. "All right, then. I can handle this first mission on my own, but having a little backup may not be a bad idea in case something goes wrong. Speaker Phenet, can you watch my back?" Bel Phenet nodded importantly—buttering up prestigious Speakers like him never hurt, and Miran really did think having backup was a good idea. Life at the university was full of surprises, not all of them pleasant.

After the others had left, Miran leaned back in her favorite armchair and sighed contentedly. It had been a long day, and all that negotiation had worn her out. She would certainly need her sleep to prepare adequately for the next morning. Smiling, Miran contemplated the elegance of their plan, a work of genius that she privately thought might rival the Prime Radiant itself for sheer complexity and beauty.

Delarmi and Gendibal were about to get the surprise of their lives.

A/N: Well, there it is. A…really rather unfunny chapter. What can I say, it happens. And it's leading into that part of the story where I can let my creative juices flow…muahahaha. Not that I plan to make life miserable for any of the characters or anything. We all know I'd never do that, right? More in the next chapter about the plot against Novi!


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